Story of Them, English Version
by Oryn
Summary: I walked into my house, closed the door behind me, and ended this episode of the story of them. Deathfic. Written before 2.17 "Personal". OC's POV.


Story (in Indonesian) by Oryn.

English translation by Twice Born Balrog Slayer (because English has never been and never will be my forte). She takes full responsibility for grammatical error and please keep in mind that English is not her native language either.

Disclaimer: the usual, I don't own NCIS: LA. They belong to... whoever it is with all the capital letters.

Warning: possible OOC, major character death.

Author's note: I was hesitant to post it at first. I thought this fic was silly and too melodramatic for most people's taste. But then, I thought, what the hell, and I went and posted it here. Any similarities to GottaloveMEgan's fic, "Rewind", are purely coincidental. In fact, I had finished this fic in Indonesian a day before she posted hers, so there. All the mistakes are mine. Review and constructive criticism are very much welcomed. Flames will be used to roast chicken satay, which is delicious, by the way.

xox

I still remember the first time I met them, it seems just like yesterday.

It was one breezy afternoon and I was crouching on my garden, pulling out wild weeds from a small patch in front of my house, near the fence. I saw two young people, a man and a woman, got down from a sedan that was parked across the street and walked to the white house next to mine. I hadn't had any bad thoughts about them, that was, until the man started to look around and nodded to his companion. The woman swiftly kneeled in front of the door, tried to unlock it using some sort of tool.

The bushes had given me a good cover, shielded me as I watched their unlawful acts. Damn criminals, I spatted inwardly; they even want to steal from an empty house! I was slightly stunned when the woman managed to unlock the door only in mere minutes, but I quickly snapped out from my surprise and went to call the police.

Being a middle-aged woman has its own perks. But, if you need to react fastly and discreetly, my age-consumed body is clearly not fit for that. My knees protested over my sudden movements and I was forced to stand up slowly, directly exposed me to the full view of the man.

Uh-oh.

The man approached me and I panickly tried to memorize self-defense tips using household tools from one of those practical tips leaflets. Tools like my gardening shears, for example. I pointed that thing toward him, threatened to scream should he dared to mess with me.

Imagine how surprised I was when he uncovered a police badge from beneath his jacket.

He told me that he and his partner were investigating something inside the house; I couldn't catch it clearly because he was talking so fast. In the end, I could only nod permissively when he and his partner entered the house. They got out from the house approximately fifteen minutes later and nodded slightly toward me, who was still wondering about what kind of crime had happened inside that house, which had been vacant for years. Perhaps there was a dead body buried underneath the basement floor, or a drug dealer had hid his supplies there. Or worst, perhaps they were real thieves who only pretended to be police officers, but then I recalled that they didn't take anything out of the house.

Huh.

Realizing that it would only bring me headache if I keep thinking about it, I tried to forget them.

Several days later, someone took off the "FOR SALE" sign in front of the house next to mine and I promptly went out for shopping, buying ingredients to make my famous pecan pie as a welcome gift for my new neighbor.

A week later, from my living room window, I saw a moving truck pulled over near the house next door, followed by a family car. I rummaged inside my cupboard to get a baking dish and in the afternoon, I took the dish to that house, filled with warm pecan pie.

The front door was slightly ajar, so I peeked inside and said hello. A friendly-looking young man, who was opening a cardboard box, saw me and I gave the pie dish to him. From our brief initial conversation, I knew that his name was Callen. Then, from the different room, a black man came out; he was bigger and bulkier than the first man. As soon as he saw me, he stopped his grumble, which I partly caught as "...just a few stuff my ass". I said hello to him and introduced myself, and then I found out that his name was Sam.

I welcomed them in the neighborhood, wrongly assumed them as lovers, making them both dumbfounded and amused, although Callen was the one who looked more amused. Sam hurriedly explained that it was not they who would live in that house, but their friends turned out to be the man and woman I had met several days prior.

I tried hard not to look at them accusingly and their friendly attitudes made everything easier. The police officer said his name, Marty Deeks, and the woman, who looked quite beautiful from a closer look, was Kensi Blye. Oh, and Marty really was a police officer. He was a detective actually, although Sam mockingly said that he looked more like a beach bum.

"Thank God there is a police officer in this neighborhood," I said, "so we will know what to do when someone breaks into a house in the middle of the day." Marty grinned widely at this and I instantly decided that I liked his energetic blue eyes. Kensi just rolled her eyes, which from a closer look have uniquely different colors, and commented under her breath, "I told you so."

I didn't want to hold them from doing their business, so I said goodbye. Behind me, I heard Marty and Kensi laughed at Sam and Callen for my earlier wrong assumption. I smiled when I heard it, but that smile was also because I finally got a young couple as my new neighbor. That little house had been empty for a long time, a pity for a house that pretty, and they surely would bring new colors to this neighborhood.

Since I retired from my job at City Hall, I had a lot of spare time and observing my surrounding became a natural thing for me to do. Kensi and Marty had been my most interesting observation objects; both because their house was close, next to mine, and the fact that they rarely came out. You know, something, or someone, rare was usually valuable and catching the attention.

At the beginning, it had been very difficult to meet them. I only got several moments when they went out in the morning, prepared to go jogging, took the milk bottle or newspaper, and it was limited to curt nods and small smiles. After that, they went to work and came back in the late evening. It was so rare to see one of them already got back home in the afternoon, and even when that happened, they mostly spent their time inside before went out again.

After some times, I realized that their working hours were rather unpredictable. Sometimes they went at the crack of dawn or didn't come home for several days. Of course, it didn't do well for their social interaction. Eventhough we were neighbors, we rarely spoke to each other, and I got an impression that they were nice enough, but they preferred to shield their life from everyone's prying eyes, deflecting people's attention from them. So I didn't try too hard to befriend them. I thought, if they needed me, they could come to me anytime. I said to myself, perhaps that was the common characteristic of city dwellers: individualistic.

My opportunity to know them better came several weeks later. One afternoon, I saw Marty stepped out from the passanger seat of their car. That in itself was not unusual since Kensi was the one who used to drive. However, my curiousity was piqued when Kensi hurriedly helped Marty; his arm was casted and he was limping slightly. Kensi later explained, while rolling her eyes, that Marty had broken his arm and twisted his ankle because he thought of himself as a superhero. He jumped from the second story while he was chasing a suspect and miscalculated his landing spot.

Ouch.

I felt pity for Marty's injury, so I made him my special lasagna from my grandmother's secret recipe. I was slightly surprised when he instantly wolfed down almost half the portion, as if he had been really starving. Sitting in their simple kitchen, Marty explained that it was he who used to cook, but with his condition, it surely would be difficult. He didn't really like the prospect of ordering some takeout (except for pizza), and couldn't even bear a thought of eating Kensi's cooking. Casually, I offered to cook for him and, unexpectedly, Marty agreed.

The next afternoon, I came with a large tray laden with food and Marty ate it all. After that, he studied me for a moment before asked me to cook in his kitchen instead. No problem. I asked him what kind of food he would like to eat, and he said, whatever. Well, that was a challenge, one that I wouldn't easily back down from.

I came earlier on the next day and I was quite impressed when I saw their well-stocked kitchen. I spent the whole morning in their kitchen. Marty, who had been busy reading in his room, came into the kitchen to accompany me. From there, our conversation flew. At first, we exchanged knowledge about cooking, shared secret recipes, and then we continued to other topics. When I finished my cooking, we had been like old friends.

Really, Marty turned out to be a pleasant man to talk to. I knew some guys who loved to talk, but Marty was very close to chatterbox. And strangely, I didn't mind to hear his blabber.

It became a routine during Marty's recuperation time. Little by little, I dug further about their personal life. Like I had known before, Marty worked at the police department, while Kensi…well, I didn't know exactly what was her job; Marty only said that she worked in some sort of security organization, and they worked together. About that, Marty's answer was always vague, but I kind of understood why.

I knew that Marty was an LA native, while Kensi had moved to many places with her Marine father. Marty loved surfing, while Kensi was an expert in various things that earned her the nickname of female Jason Bourne. Kensi was an orphan and Marty still had his parents, but he only spoke to his mother, because his father hated his guts.

After Marty didn't need my help anymore, I thought I would lose contact with them. But one day, Kensi visited me and gave me some money and said thank you for my help, in a way that made me couldn't refuse it. She also invited me to have dinner at their house and I instantly accepted. I thought, that would be a good way to know Kensi better, and the dinner turned out to be very enjoyable. Marty was a good host and I was glad to see him well. However, Kensi mostly steered the conversation in a way that made me opened up more than her. Nonetheless, I found her as a quite pleasant companion to talk to.

Since that dinner, our relationship became closer. They, who at first just only waved or nodded shortly when we met, started to open up and we talked more often, shared anything that crossed our mind. We tried to find anything that we had in common, some safe topics to talk about, showing that we cared for each other without being intrusive. No longer uncommon for them to help me bringing groceries from my car to the house and if I cooked too many food, they would just happily take care of the rest. I gave them tips on how to remove most stains and Kensi upgraded my house's alarm system. Those small things to do between neighbors, simple yet enriching.

I noticed that there were not many people visited them, except several. Among them was Mrs. Deeks, Marty's mother. Then Sam and Callen, and two geek-looking young couple that I presumed working together with them, Eric and Nell. There was also Hetty, a petite yet intimidating woman, and I thought she was their boss. Their guests were very limited like an exclusive country club, yet I was included.

During our blooming friendship, Marty and Kensi slowly became more open with their other neighbors. Occasionally, they even joined some of our casual activities. They created the illusion that they were more social, their ways of keeping the distance became more subtle. It was as if they were playing a show for everyone else, but deep down, I knew that they were sincere to me. Slowly, I became a part of their life, made me somehow able to describe them in a better, detailed way.

Marty was laid back, sometimes silly, yet kindhearted and helpful. He often acted like a big kid, or better, he was like Peter Pan; a boy who doesn't want to grow up. However, if there was a dire situation, Marty could react fastly, with a stunning effectiveness and maturity. Kensi was his best complement. She was a tough, independent and smart woman, yet she would not hesitate to use tricks, sometimes the childish ones, and showed all sort of competitive behaviors whenever she joined any competition against Marty.

For other people, their interaction might seem like brother and sister, but I knew differently. I used to see them kissing briefly before they left, usually in front of the door and in the car. I noted little things that looked trifle, but clearly showed that they were more than brother and sister. They seldom held each other's hand; instead they occassionally squeezed the others's fingers gently to show affection. They didn't have to be next to each other every time, but they always checked each other's whereabouts.

Their gazes were also their way of communication; they could detect if there was anything wrong with each other and quickly fixed it. I had seen Kensi moved a wayward tree branch away from Marty's face, only to playfully let it loose then and snapped the back of his head. But when they crossed the street, Marty quickly snatched Kensi's hand when a car was speeding in front of her.

If those were not enough, then nothing would be more convincing than this. That day, I was just going to clean my bedroom window, when I saw Kensi and Marty were caressing each other through their sitting room window (whose curtain was opened). Marty kissed his way down to Kensi's lips and neck, and Kensi arched her body, gave him full access.

They were progressing slowly to the couch when Kensi accidentally looked at the window and spotted me. After I had snapped out of my initial surpise, I kindly pointed out their opened curtain. Marty hurriedly closed the curtain while Kensi laughed softly behind him; briefly, I saw Marty's bare-chested figure, his athletic body was sculpted beautifully. And I thought, I wish I had been 20 years younger.

Oh, well.

They were kind of strange couple, in my opinion. They refused to show their affection in traditional ways, at least in public. They chose to scream "I hate you" while at the same time, their eyes said "I love you". They loved to bicker and banter in almost every moment, but oddly, they enjoyed that.

Marty loved to call Kensi with a string of ridiculous pet names; Kiki, princess, my sweet, and his favorite: Fern. Kensi's reactions were ranging from rolling her eyes, to punch him straight away. And boy, she punched really hard. However, if their fight was serious and Marty needed something to show his heartfelt apology, roses from my garden came to his rescue.

Nonetheless, I had to admit that they formed a solid team. They were like a well-lubricated machine, just like when they trapped and caught a female-underwear thief who had terrorized our neighborhood, or when they fixed the roof together, or winning various games at the 4th July celebration.

Once, I blurted a sudden thought, that they looked just like husband and wife. And Kensi snorted, saying something along the lines of "do not give Marty any strange ideas".

One morning, Marty knocked on my door, looking very handsome, fresh and for once, clean shaven. He seemed nervous, but I still could catch his excitement which, I noticed, was more than usual. He presented a flower bouquet from behind his back and before I embarassed myself by saying thank you, he produced another bouquet, asking me which one that was better. I thought, he must have made very grave mistake to Kensi, since the choice of flower was considered this seriously. One was a rose bouquet and the other was lily. I like rose, I said. He also took out two ties, one black and one blue, and asked for my opinion. I said, the blue one matched his eyes.

He said thank you and was about to leave, when something seemed to pass his mind suddenly. He threw a calculative gaze at me, before smiled mysteriously and said that I should wear something pretty, because there would be someone picking me up at five. And I will surely enjoy that, he added. Since it was no use to ask further questions, I did what he had said. I wore my Sunday best and waited.

Finally, at five, Callen came to my house. He was smartly dressed and he held my hand like a true gentleman while we were walking to his car. Asking him was proven futile, too; he only mumbled about something that he had thought would never happened in history, well, at least not this quick, but it turned out happened today.

I could only swallow my curiousity when we picked up Nell and Eric, both also wore their best formal clothes. Finally, we arrived at the beach, a rather secluded one. Mrs. Deeks and Sam came not long after us. Callen took us to a spot where a large mat was spread on the sand, plus some chairs and a table laden with food. Not far from there, a little bit closer to the sea, there stood a beautiful arch decorated with flowers.

Ah, so that was it.

No wonder Marty had asked me about the best jewelry store in the town, the affordable one of course, and how to find out about someone's ring size. That was kinda fast of him, I thought.

Kensi's car came and was parked not far from there. She stepped out of the car and I smiled admiringly when I saw her walking toward us. She looked…elegant, there was no better word for her. She only wore a simple white gown, with her hair pulled back into a neat bun secured with a decorative hairpin, but she was glowing with an aura of a queen. Queen of the day and Marty was her king. His black suit accentuated his frame perfectly and he looked definitely dashing with his hair combed neatly.

Hetty finally came and she nodded to the young couple. I sat on one of the chair, full of anticipation when I saw Marty and Kensi walked side by side behind Hetty, following her to the arch. On the way to the arch, however, Marty suddenly stopped and said that he had never proposed to Kensi properly. He immediately kneeled in front of her, showing a ring and asking if she would like to marry him. Kensi only stared at him, clearly was tempted to hit her improptu fiancee with the flower bouquet she held, wondering how she can end up with someone like Marty, but she said yes anyway. Marty slipped the ring into Kensi's ring finger and he quickly took it off again for the wedding purpose, made all of us snickering.

Hetty then motioned both of them to stand in front of the arch and she reverently led the wedding ceremony. Under Los Angeles sunset, Marty and Kensi exchanged their vows as well as simple golden bands, and my tears welled up when I saw Marty kissed Kensi gently, right after they had pronounced husband and wife.

The after-wedding party was very intimate, as if it was only a family picnic. And yes, I think we were all already a family back then, united by love. We sat on the beach, eating, drinking, talking endlessly and generally making merry. Just after the sky had darken, we lit candles, as well as some fireworks and firecrackers Eric had bought, and we laughed like children.

Mrs. Deeks approached me and we chatted; it seemed easier because we were at the same age. While watching the youth in our group, Mrs. Deeks suddenly thanked me. She knew about me from Marty, how I had helped him, and she really appreciated it. "They look so happy," she said with a motherly tone and I couldn't agree more.

It was the most vacant wedding party I had ever attended, but I had never seen happier couples than Marty and Kensi.

Many people said that married life is different, but I never saw that in Marty and Kensi's lives. Probably because their heart had been married long before the actual wedding. Kensi didn't even change her maiden name. She said it would be confusing if there were two Deeks at the office. Plus, she added, Kensi Deeks just doesn't rhyme nicely. Marty teased her, saying that Kensi just doesn't want to go through all the process of changing her name again if they are divorced. And they threw popcorn to each other afterward. Just like the usual.

It seemed not long after they were married, when I saw Kensi staggered while she was getting down from her car, holding tightly to the car door to prevent herself from falling. I hurriedly led her to her porch and sat down beside her. I offered to take her to the doctor, but she refused, saying that perhaps she was just exhausted from work. Lately, she had been feeling dizzy and tired easily. One thought arose in my mind and when I shared it with Kensi, she looked rather surprised, as if it was the first time that possibility crossed her mind and then she decided that going to the clinic might not a bad idea.

I accompanied her to the nearest clinic. When she finally came out from the doctor's exam room, her flat expression made me think that, perhaps, the result was not what we had expected. Then, she smiled widely, and I knew I had to congratulate her, since she was pregnant. She wanted to surprise her husband, so we wracked our brain during our trip home, planning the best way to surprise Marty.

I didn't know which plan she used. But that night, from the window I saw Marty picked Kensi up and spinned her around, looked utterly happy. Kensi told me on the next day that that morning, Marty bought her a cardboard full of her favorite junkfood. Other husbands perhaps would give flowers or jewelry, she said, shaking her head, but I knew she would not trade her husband for anything.

Kensi might be pregnant, but she was not a spoiled woman. She still worked like usual because her doctor still allowed her. Marty was of course worried, but he couldn't forbid her to go to work. If he tried, a great fight would ensue afterward and that was the last thing he needed. Even without his fuss and nag, Kensi had become temperamental, often got angry at him without any particular reason. Those hormonal things, I guess.

If their fight was real ugly, Marty was often forced to spend the night outside the locked house, since unlike his wife, he was nowhere near an expert in lockpicking. I used to see him sleeping on the porch or in the car and then I offered him my couch in my living room. However, he had to return to his previous location in the early morning, so that Kensi would take pity on him and let him enter the house. Even then, Marty said that it was better to be locked outside than slept on separate beds. I didn't get why.

Marty's sacrifices didn't stop there. I had seen him driving to downtown in the middle of the night, before I realized that he had been looking for whatever his wife demanded to fulfill her cravings. And that was not just for once. Marty said that their baby was already making his life difficult even when he/she was still in the womb, and Kensi, with a speed and strength that was unlike any other pregnant women, quickly landed a punch on her husband.

No wonder that Marty was very grateful when Kensi's emotional fluctuation had ended and everything became relatively peaceful between them. When Kensi's pregnancy had showed, some women in our neighborhood offered to hold some sort of baby shower for her and she accepted that gladly. They were the ones who did all of the preparation anyway.

During her pregnancy, Kensi was in a need for new clothes. She didn't like to be accompanied to shopping by Marty , but if her mother in law was visiting, they usually went to the town together, buying various maternity dresses as well as baby supplies. Once, they returned with paint cans and gave them to Marty while saying that they had already picked the color and now it was his job to paint the baby's room. The same thing happened when Kensi and Mrs. Deeks returned with a baby crib and cupboard, and asked Marty to assemble them. The only thing that Marty himself contributed to his baby's room was a rocking chair, which he presented to his wife with a suggestive smirk, earning him a clip on his ear from Kensi.

I only accompanied Kensi once when she was doing her shopping, and that was because I accidentally met her at the mall. She looked very energetic, coming in and out various stores easily. People said pregnant women glow with a sheer of gentle aura, and I saw it on Kensi. She looked… radiant. Her pregnancy softened her feature, made her more beautiful than ever.

We ended our shopping trip by visiting a salon. Kensi wanted to have her hair cut, while I opted for some hair treatments. We were chatting lightly, when Kensi suddenly said that she might looked calm, but deep down she was a little worried about her child. She was afraid that she couldn't be a good parent. I assured her that she and Marty would be able to be good parents. She sighed and said that since her job and Marty's were risky, not to mention dangerous, what would become of their child if something bad happened to both of them? I could only say that there was God who would protect their child, not to mention their friends who would be willing to take care of the child and she should believe that.

It turned out that Kensi must take her pregnancy leave sooner; she experienced bleeding in the seventh month and her doctor told her to stay at home. At first, Kensi had tried to alleviate her boredom by working from home, with a special computer network that was set up by Eric. Later, Marty found out that Kensi often forgot about time everytime she was in front of the computer and so he took the matter on his own hands, staged a one person intervention, so to speak. He completely forbid his wife from working, told her to take her pregnancy leave and get totally resting.

Poor Kensi, of course, could not stand doing nothing. She could go crazy because of that. So when I visited her one day, she half-desperately asked me to teach her cooking. At least, cooking was a more relaxing and flexible activity. Marty allowed it, saying that it was good that I would be supervising his wife. No problem. I taught Kensi how to make simple meals as well as some of her husband's favorite foods. She wasn't born to be a cook, but her efforts deserved some praises. And Marty's initial expression of horror when he had to taste his wife's cooking soon turned to be admiration. He said, that was the first time Kensi made edible meals, and before she had the chance to retort back, Marty had kissed the back of her hand.

Aww.

One afternoon in May, my phone rang. When I picked it up, I heard a moaning voice which I recognized as Kensi's. I knew that she wouldn't call me except if it was an emergency, so I hurriedly walked to her house (my cordless phone was still on my ear), trying my best to calm her down. She opened the door painstakingly as she almost couldn't stand from the pain of her contractions. I admit, I was quite panicked, but I snapped out of it and tried to focus.

I helped her sitting down on the couch while trying to call Marty with one hand. Kensi took my other hand and squeezed it hard. It took some times, but eventually I could reach Marty and told him the news; I alternated between calming Kensi down and giving Marty the information about his wife's condition. He finally arrived in less than 10 minutes and took his wife into his arms, while she was torn between angry and relieved to see her husband. I didn't exactly know how, but then I found myself sitting in the back of his car, accompanied Kensi who was getting more and more in agony by the minute, my heart beat so fast because Marty drove like a maniac.

When we arrived at the hospital, Kensi was taken into the delivery room and Marty was on her side. Confused, I was going to follow them when one of the staff prevented me to come in, since I was not a family member. Okay. I sat down waiting, alone at first, then Callen, Sam and Mrs. Deeks came; the latter promptly entered the room.

Kensi's labor took hours and we were very anxious; conversation was slowly diminishing. Marty came out of the room several times, looked very worried and I saw a hint of regret in his eyes; Sam tried his best to calm him down.

Finally, when I had thought to come home (since it was already dark), Mrs. Deeks appeared, looked very tired but happy. She announced that her granddaughter had been born, and both mother and daughter were well. Thank God.

Sam and Callen asked Marty to go out and celebrate, but the new father refused. Thus, we celebrated the birth of Marty's daughter at one corner of the waiting room instead. Only on the next day I could see the baby, who was peacefully sleeping in Kensi's arm. Marty never moved his gaze from both his wife and daughter and the young couple's faces beamed with happiness, the kind of happiness that words just wouldn't suffice to describe.

Mackenzie May Deeks, it was the name that was given to Marty and Kensi's firstborn. It was her father who chose the name. He said, "Mackenzie" was a combination between Marty and Kensi, and "May" was, of course, her birth month. Kensi rolled her eyes, whispering to me that their baby's name could be more weird than that, but thank God it didn't. She also mumbled something about next time she would not put a bet upon the right of baby naming on the poker table.

Mackenzie was a very beautiful baby. A tuft of her brown hair was clearly from Kensi, but those blue eyes were surely Marty's. We were imagining what would Mackenzie be when she grew up. On that, Marty and Kensi agreed that she must not become a cop. Marty seriously said that he would save a hundred bucks every month for her daughter's college fund; an amount of money that surely would gone over guns and ammo in Kensi's hand. Kensi calmly responded by asking that what if their daughter didn't want to go to college herself. The argument ended up with a playful fight, that was stopped when Mackenzie cried and Kensi must breastfeed her.

Kensi got several months leave, which she really used to adapt with her new role as a mother. Once again, she and her husband prove themselves as a solid team. They took turns minding the baby, without any fuss about whose turn was that. Marty, unexpectedly, was really good in changing diapers, while Kensi was the expert in putting the baby to sleep. About the latter, Marty only commented that Kensi scared the baby to sleep.

Everything was going smoothly, until the time Kensi had to go back to work. Marty and Kensi needed to find babysitter and they didn't want to bother Mrs. Deeks all the time. I volunteered to take care of Mackenzie during the day until they could find a babysitter. They never did. Marty and Kensi were ridiculously strict in selecting babysitters, checking their histories and backgrounds like what they might do in the screening for secret agent candidates. No one passed their selection, however, it made me wonder if they did that on purpose. And so I became Mackenzie's sort of foster grandma for years.

I didn't mind at all, really. I didn't have children of my own and I usually didn't really like them, but Mackenzie was such a sweet little girl so it was easy for me to like her. Since she was a baby, she was quiet and didn't make much fuss. She was always a little angel, and her smile was so heart-melting, it made me instantly fell in love to her. Taking care of her came naturally to me. Of course, I always asked her parents about what kinds of values I could transfer, what was the limit of my authority toward her, things like that, since I didn't want to overstep her parents' roles. And they appreciated that.

Eventhough I was used to live alone, without any family, I had to admit Mackenzie gave my life a breath of fresh air. She filled the empty spot inside my heart that I didn't know it existed before and I was glad I could love and take care of her. I was even willing not to be paid, but Kensi wouldn't accept that. Thus, she wrote a check for me every month.

One thing that burdened my mind was Kensi and Marty's hectic work schedule. Especially Kensi. I didn't want to criticize working mothers; only God knows what they have to go through. I just thought she should spend more time with her daughter. One late afternoon, when Kensi picked up Mackenzie, I told her that she had, for the first time, said "mommy". Kensi looked heartbroken, realizing that she had just missed her daughter's first word and she regretted it. God knew what else she had just missed, and since then, she started to spend more time at home. Mackenzie, of course, was the one who felt most happy.

Aside from all their flaws, I could say that Marty and Kensi were good parents. They tried to balance their work and family time, and I knew that wasn't an easy task. They didn't shower their child with stuff like other busy parents did to compensate their absence, but they tried to spend as much quality time together whenever they could, without any hint of spoiling her rotten. No matter how busy they were, they always had breakfast together and when it was Mackenzie's bed time, one of them would tuck her in. Kensi usually read from a story book, and Marty sang a lullaby for her.

Saturday and Sunday were their family days. On those days, I used to see Marty and Kensi played with Mackenzie outside the house. Sometimes they went to the park or took a walk together. Marty taught Mackenzie how to ride tricycle, built a swing for her, and became a guest in one of her "tea parties." Kensi taught her how to play cards, tracking, and playing "cop and criminal," earned her title of the coolest mother ever from Mackenzie. Otherwise, they would have barbecue party. I was usually invited, and of course Mrs. Deeks, Sam and his child, and Callen with whoever his girlfriend was at that time. Sometimes Hetty, Eric and Nell joined us and we hung out together, enjoying the sun, laughter, and friendship.

Nurtured with love, Mackenzie grew to become a fine, smart girl. Once, I heard she gave a riddle that her father couldn't answer. Marty then commented that his daughter got her mother's intelligence and her father's good look. Kensi only laughed at this, saying that she could get both of that from her mother, resulting once more in a playful banter and Mackenzie trying to act like a family referee. In the end, the bantering ended when the three of them fell unceremoniously to the lawn, wrestling and giggling and tickling each other. That was one of my fondest memories.

I really hoped that they could live happily ever after.

They were such a perfectly happy little family, but I had a bad feeling that every perfect thing would not, could not, last long. I really hated that I had a feeling like that, but life had taught me that way. And I sighed inwardly when it was really happened then.

The sad news came in the early morning. I was just getting ready to do my routine morning walk, when Marty knocked—no, banged— on my door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see his worried face, which was more than what he showed on the day of his daughter's birth. Mackenzie was in his arms, she was still sleepy, and he handed her to me, saying that Kensi was in a critical condition at the hospital; his eyes as wild and agitated as a trapped animal's. I said that I would take care of Mackenzie, that he didn't have to go back home in a hurry if his wife still needed him at the hospital, and I prayed that his wife would be okay. His voice was almost choked in his throat when he said thank you.

I went through that morning with Mackenzie, but she was more quiet than usual, so I let her playing by herself. Not once she asked me about her mother, but I could only say that her mother was at hospital. I cheered her up, thinking that Kensi would be okay soon. And I had hoped that it would be really happened because I'd hate to be a liar.

Callen visited us in the afternoon, saying that Kensi had gotten an accident while she was in a mission and her condition was worsening even though she had been gone through a surgery. All sounded horrible to my ears; something about internal bleeding and organ failure. It turned out that he also came to pick up Mackenzie. He was going to bring her to see her mother and I knew there's a possibility that it was to say goodbye. I couldn't keep my tears from falling when she went with Callen.

Kensi had passed away before she got the last chance to see her daughter, that was what I heard from Sam later.

Her funeral was very solemn as well as sombre, and I was slightly surprised when I saw that there were more people there than at her wedding. Kensi died in her duty as a true patriot and many people were present to give their final respects. I stood on the back, slightly self-conscious among those neat, black-clad people. Mackenzie had her hand in her grandma's and I saw a contemplative calmness on her face instead of sadness. Either she was still too young to understand, or she had been more than understand.

Hetty was the one who gave the eulogy, since Marty couldn't even say a word. Sam and Callen stood on each of his side, looking worriedly at each other everytime they glanced at Marty's face. And they had a good reason. That day, I finally knew the true meaning of "losing the half of your soul". When Kensi left, she brought half of Marty's life with her. He tried his best to be strong, not even a single tear was shed, but everyone could see how heartbroken he was. Long after the funeral was ended, Marty still stood in front of his wife's grave, with a bottle of whiskey as his sole companion. Sam and Callen caught him when he collapsed, either because he was too drunk or too lost in grief. I looked from afar and thought; everything's gonna change after this.

I was right.

After Kensi's death, Marty became a very different person. I let him be at first, thinking that everyone needs some times to grieve. But after a while, I started to be worried about him and Mackenzie. Marty didn't neglect his daughter, that was true, but I got an impression that Mackenzie's presence had brought back painful memories about his wife. Marty tried hard to create a normal situation at home for his daughter. He tried too hard, I guess. Mackenzie was sensitive enough to read her father's ambiguous behavior and slowly detached herself from everyone. Marty also started drinking when night came. He usually put Mackenzie under my or his mother's care, before went to whatever bar he could find and came back stinking drunk, sometimes accompanied by Sam and Callen, who could only trade worried glances.

I seldom met Marty anymore, except when he came to drop or pick up Mackenzie, and he looked thinner and unkempt everytime I saw him. His eyes, once so full with life, were dull and empty as if he had denied life. Everytime I talked to Marty, I felt like talking to an empty shell; his mind wandering to the place I couldn't reach. I was really sad to see him like that, but I didn't know what to do, or did I have the right to intervene.

Once, I found him gulping down a bottle of vodka for breakfast and I called Callen, who came to see me with Sam. From them, I knew that Marty's work performance had dropped significantly and both of them were trying their best to cover it from their superiors. Not from Hetty, but the others. They told me that Marty also became more careless and his team mates were trying to protect him as best as they could. Hetty, who was also worried, made Marty doing more behind-the-desk jobs, reducing his field work. All of them had tried to talk some sense into Marty, but to no avail. Mrs. Deeks had also tried, but Marty avoided her. They said to me that probably I should give it a shot because they were at loss on what to say to him.

I said that I'd give it a try.

However, planning was easier than actually doing it. Until several days later, I still didn't know how I could talk to Marty. Then one day, when Mackenzie was at my house, she got a fever and refused to eat, complaining that her throat was hurt. I fed her warm chicken soup and gave her some paracetamol, then waited for Marty to came home. But he didn't come until late night and his cellphone was off. I waited and waited, my anger slowly building each time I asked myself where the hell was he when his daughter needed him. I hoped there was something happened to him, because if he was just passed out drunk at the bar, I would make sure he knew what I thought about him and it was not going to be pretty.

It was almost midnight when I heard a clanging noise outside my house. I looked out to find Marty, walking shakily like a grass blade blown by hard wind; he had been accidentally tripped on my garbage can and the content was spilled over my lawn as the result. That was enough to trigger my reaction. I walked briskly outside and I did something I had never done before: I turned on my garden hose and sprayed Marty with high pressure water. He fell to the ground from my unexpected attack, but I didn't care at all. I scolded him, pouring out my anger along with the stream of water until my voice was hoarse and my throat was raw.

He didn't deny, or fight back. Not even once.

Panting, I turned off the hose and approached Marty; my relief after I had poured out my anger turned into pity. He was just sitting there on the grass, soaking wet to the bone. His eyes showed enough sobriety, yet he still looked like a little boy lost. I kneeled beside him, stared at him for a moment, before slowly gathered him into my arms. When his head leaned on my shoulder, his wall broke down and he wept uncontrollably. All of the sadness and pain that had been repressed for weeks was resurfaced.

I let him. He needed that. He cried wordlessly until his body was shaking hard. I tightened my embrace, felt my blouse became wet. I didn't say anything; I just wanted to show that I was there for him and that was enough.

I didn't know how long he had been crying, but finally his sobs subsided, he wiped his tears away, mixing it with water and he tried to let go from me. But I cupped his face, looked at him straight in his eyes, tried to get to him and said that he couldn't go on like this. He still had a daughter and God knows how much his daughter needed him after her mother died. Although my words sounded cliché, I continued about how Kensi would kick his ass in the afterlife if Marty neglected their daughter and his life, and we all knew that Kensi really could kick ass. At least, I said to him, if not for Mackenzie's sake, he could live for the real Marty Deeks whom Kensi had loved once. He was not alone, I added, never alone, and I hoped that my words wouldn't fall on deaf ears.

I pulled my hand from him, gave him some time to digest my words with his still addled by alcohol brain, then I told him that Mackenzie was sick and needed his attention. And for the first time after Kensi's funeral, Marty showed a real concern toward Mackenzie. He changed his clothes, picked up Mackenzie and brought her to the hospital by taxi. There was a hint of gentleness when he dealt with Mackenzie, gentleness that I had not seen it often lately and I thought, it was a good start.

Mackenzie got a mild case of throat inflammation, but she didn't have to spend the night at the hospital. As for Marty, the story was different. He got a quite bad flu after I had sprayed him with cold water in the middle of the night and he needed to spend a week for total bedrest. That did him good though, since it gave him enough time to contemplate things (between his efforts to draw breath). After he got well, he then decided to ask for professional help (or rather, Hetty had finally forced him, but whatever).

After he had gone through intensive counseling, it was like Marty began to see the first ray of sun after the storm. He slowly recovered and I began to see his old self back. He started to smile again, although it was not a wide, goofy smile I had known and liked so well, but it was enough. His jokes were still lame, but I was glad because he tried. He could talk to me and his friends about Kensi, and memories about her were no longer painful to remember. Marty also quit his drinking binge; he gave his various bottles of liquor to Sam, Callen and me, made us wonder what we should do with it. He tried hard and we supported him.

One thing that really put great relief upon me was Marty's improving relationship with Mackenzie. That little girl, like most children, had seemed to forget or forgive her father's behaviors without being asked. Her love for Marty was not diminished, even growing stronger. Her wit and cuteness, as well as her surprisingly mature behavior that she sometimes showed, brought light to Marty's life. Everytime he watched his daughter playing at the park, his eyes would shine with love. He told me that if he hadn't had Mackenzie, he would have been a very different person. I commented that it would seem to be. Then we smiled together, glad that the worst had passed.

However, I sometimes spotted Marty's gaze toward the endless sky, looking as if he helplessly wanted to reach the horizon from where he was, like a bird in a cage. And I had another feeling that he really would do that.

I was right again.

Today was the last time I saw them. Before they left, Marty and Mackenzie visited me in early morning. I knew it. Several days prior, I had seen Marty talked with a real estate agent, and I knew that there would be a "FOR SALE" sign being put in front of his house, like years ago. Marty had explained to me that he got a new, more promising job offer in Washington, DC, but I knew better. I understood the real reason.

Mackenzie hugged me tightly, asked me to keep sending her letters and swore that I would never forgot her. I said yes although I knew that she would soon forget her Granny Rose as soon as she felt comfortable with her new life. Little girls were always like that. It was okay though. I hugged her back and made her promise to always obey her father and be a good girl. I also told her that living in the new city would be different, but it was sure an adventure and it was going to be fun.

I wrapped the only food I got in my kitchen that day: a plate of pecan pie. I gave that food to Marty, saying that that was the only gift I could give to accompany their journey. They didn't travel by plane, instead they would have a long ride across the country using the car which was used to be Kensi's. It was impractical, but I thought Marty needed that long journey.

Marty stared closely at me, unsure about what to say to me. He was looking for words that would reveal what was in his heart, but apparently we didn't need words. In the end, he came forward and hugged me without warning; this time I leaned on him more. I patted his back and I told him that he would be okay eventually, as I always wished for his and Mackenzie's well being. He thanked me with a cracked voice, and I almost cried, too.

Suddenly, there were small arms hugged my legs and I looked down to see Mackenzie; she was trying to hug both of us. A small sob escaped my lips when I and Marty kneeled down, pinning Mackenzie in a sandwich hug. A drop of tear trailed down Marty's cheek when Mackenzie assured him, with her optimistic little voice, that everything was going to be okay.

We stayed in that position for quite long until Mackenzie wriggled and complained that she couldn't breath. Marty and I laughed softly, wiped out our tears and put on a smile; so bittersweet the moment was. With a spontanity I rarely showed, I pulled Marty's head softly toward me and I kissed his temple, like a mother would do to her son. He was slightly surprised at that gesture, but he smiled reverently afterward.

We were silent again for a moment, before I realized that this goodbye moment could last forever, since Marty looked reluctant to end it. Very well. I told them that they would be late if they didn't go soon. Marty said yes and our goodbye was official. I watched when the father and daughter entered the car, then waved to me through the opened window, while Marty was driving his car until it disappeared on the corner of the street.

I didn't immediately walk back into my house; my mind was still trying to digest everything that had happened. When I saw that vacant white house next to mine, my memories wandered into the times that I had gone through with Marty, Kensi, and Mackenzie. The laughter and tears that we shared, and the moments to cherish. They had left; one was for forever, the others were just temporarily, although I didn't know when, or if, we could meet again. I sighed, realizing it for the first time.

Strangely, I didn't feel as empty as I should. Yes, they had left me, but they also left something that was more than enough to make the emptiness more bearable. Finally, I decided that I was glad, for our life had been intersected, and I left my spot on the side of the street with lighter feeling than before.

I smiled to the direction where I saw them for the last time, with a hope that the world would also smile for them.

I walked into my house, closed the door behind me, and ended this episode of the story of them.

xox

THE END


End file.
